soon as he once got going, the intensity of his convictions, together with his position, and real gift—­not of the gab, like Harbinger’s—­but of restrained, biting oratory, was sure to bring him to the front with a bound in the present state of parties.  And what were those convictions?  Lord Valleys had tried to understand them, but up to the present he had failed.  And this did not surprise him exactly, since, as he often said, political convictions were not, as they appeared on the surface, the outcome of reason, but merely symptoms of temperament.  And he could not comprehend, because he could not sympathize with, any attitude towards public affairs that was not essentially level, attached to the plain, common-sense factors of the case as they appeared to himself.  Not that he could fairly be called a temporizer, for deep down in him there was undoubtedly a vein of obstinate, fundamental loyalty to the traditions of a caste which prized high spirit beyond all things.  Still he did feel that Miltoun was altogether too much the ‘pukka’ aristocrat—­no better than a Socialist, with his confounded way of seeing things all cut and dried; his ideas of forcing reforms down people’s throats and holding them there with the iron hand!  With his way too of acting on his principles!  Why!  He even admitted that he acted on his principles!  This thought always struck a very discordant note in Lord Valleys’ breast.  It was almost indecent; worse-ridiculous!  The fact was, the dear fellow had unfortunately a deeper habit of thought than was wanted in politics—­dangerous—­very!  Experience might do something for him!  And out of his own long experience the Earl of Valleys tried hard to recollect any politician whom the practice of politics had left where he was when he started.  He could not think of one.  But this gave him little comfort; and, above a piece of late asparagus his steady eyes sought his son’s.  What had he come up to tell him?

The phrase had been ominous; he could not recollect Miltoun’s ever having told him anything.  For though a really kind and indulgent father, he had—­like so many men occupied with public and other lives—­a little acquired towards his offspring the look and manner:  Is this mine?  Of his four children, Barbara alone he claimed with conviction.  He admired her; and, being a man who savoured life, he was unable to love much except where he admired.  But, the last person in the world to hustle any man or force a confidence, he waited to hear his son’s news, betraying no uneasiness.

Miltoun seemed in no hurry.  He described Courtier’s adventure, which tickled Lord Valleys a good deal.

“Ordeal by red pepper!  Shouldn’t have thought them equal to that,” he said.  “So you’ve got him at Monkland now.  Harbinger still with you?”

“Yes.  I don’t think Harbinger has much stamina.

“Politically?”

Miltoun nodded.

“I rather resent his being on our side—­I don’t think he does us any good.  You’ve seen that cartoon, I suppose; it cuts pretty deep.  I couldn’t recognize you amongst the old women, sir.”